


Paved With Good Intentions

by hunenka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Sam Winchester, Darkfic, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Sam 'Boy King of Hell' Winchester, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:51:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunenka/pseuds/hunenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scary demonic powers or not, Dean is willing to do anything so he can keep Sam. But what if Sam isn't exactly Sam anymore? (S2, goes AU sometime after <i>Born Under a Bad Sign</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paved With Good Intentions

“Dean, I’m a monster,” Sam swallows a sob, all sad puppy dog eyes and floppy hair getting into his face. “You’ve gotta kill me.”

“Sammy, no,” Dean carefully pries the loaded gun from Sam’s fingers, puts the safety back on and throws it onto the bed behind him.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam shakes his head resolutely. “What Meg did when she was inside me, the people she hurt and killed… Dean, I _enjoyed_ it.” He crowds Dean, hands on Dean’s shoulders and his face mere inches from Dean’s own. “And I… I want more.”

Dean licks his lips, feeling slightly uneasy when Sam’s eyes follow the movement with an expression that looks almost hungry, entranced. “Want more what?”

“More violence, more bones crunching under my boots, more screams of pain,” Sam says bluntly like he hopes that will finally do the trick and convince Dean to kill him. “And it’s getting worse, Dean. Every day. I feel this… urge to break. To hurt.” He looks scared now, and desperate. “What if it gets hold of me? What if I can’t control it? The evil inside me is gonna get out!”

Dean makes the decision in a split-second. It’s not like he hasn’t noticed the changes in Sam before and hasn’t spent long, sleepless nights searching for a solution that doesn’t involve having to follow Dad’s last words to him. “Then we’ll just have to make sure you’ll find some vent for that aggression so you can keep it under control. Keep the pressure low so you don’t blow.”

Sam rubs his face with his hands tiredly, sighing. He looks at Dean helplessly. “But how?”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line. He’s still not really sure about what he’s about to say but he has to say it anyway. “Take it out on me.”

“What?” Sam shouts, disgusted, taking a step back. “Are you crazy?”

“Sammy, hear me out,” Dean crosses the distance between them, catching Sam’s larger hands in his own. “When the need for violence comes, just use me.”

Sam is shaking his head. “I can’t hurt you. Not ever.”

Dean sighs and carefully keeps his tone calm. “You have to let it out somehow. So you’ll hurt me.”

“But–“

“You have to,” Dean doesn’t give Sam the chance to speak. “Either you hurt me or you hurt somebody else, some innocent bystander.”

Sam protests, “How could I do this to you? _You_ of all people!”

Dean smiles at him. “Because you’re worth it to me.”

The seriousness of Dean’s affirmation, the promise that it holds, it’s almost enough to convince Sam. Almost. “No, you should just kill me. Make sure I don’t hurt anyone at all.”

“No!” Dean shouts, finally losing his temper. “I can’t lose you, you understand? You have to live…” his voice breaks. Sam hugs him tightly, murmuring calming nonsenses into his ear.

“Please, Sammy,” Dean whispers, voice still shaky with emotion, “You have to do this. For me. So I don’t lose you.”

That finally seems to convince Sam. “Alright, we’ll give it a try,” he agrees reluctantly and Dean breathes out in relief.

***

It’s weeks before they actually do it, Sam admitting that the pressure’s too much for him to handle any longer, that if he doesn’t do something, heads are going to roll.

Dean expects him to hold back at first, has the whole _let it all out, I can handle it_ speech ready, but it turns out he didn’t really have to worry about that. Sam’s first punch drives Dean to his knees, doubled over and clutching at his stomach, and before he can even find his bearings, a vicious kick sends him sprawling on his back. When did Sam get so strong?

Sam apologizes afterwards, when he’s cleaning Dean up, patching up his wounds with gentle, caring hands. The same hands that made Dean scream himself hoarse with pain just a while before.

***

“I think I found us a case,” Dean looks up from the newspaper he’s reading and taps his finger on one obit. “I’m pretty sure it’s a werewolf pack. We could make it there in half a day.”

“Don’t you think we should concentrate on my own little problem?” Sam snaps, making Dean flinch. “Or don’t you want to help me anymore?”

“Sure I do,” Dean chooses his words carefully, feeling like he’s walking through a minefield blindfolded, “I just thought we could do some regular hunting too, especially since we’re heading practically in the same direction.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

That’s the end of the discussion and Dean doesn’t bring it up again.

***

The first time Sam fucks Dean, Dean panics and forgets all about his promise that _this is alright, whatever you need_ ; he kicks and struggles and tries to break free, but Sam overpowers him easily – too easily – and takes what he wants anyway. Dean cries afterwards, silent, choked sobs released into the pillow, being as stealthy about is as he can, but Sam notices anyway.

“I told you I’m a monster,” Sam tells him, sitting in the bed next to Dean, still naked and so scarily big and strong, “maybe now you’ll finally kill me.”

So Dean doesn’t fight Sam the next time, or the times after, and he only cries in the shower where he can hide his tears, but gradually he stops crying at all, just to be sure.

***

“How can this be alright?” Sam asks, curled up on the bed and looking so miserable that it breaks Dean’s heart. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep hurting you like this.”

“Sure you can,” Dean suppresses a groan of pain as he sits up and scoots over to his brother, reaches out with his still functioning hand and runs his fingers through Sam’s hair. “I need you to, okay? We’ve been over this a hundred times, this is the only way.”

Sam sniffs several times. “It’s not. There’s always the bullet to the brain way.”

Hearing that still hurts Dean so much more than the feel of Sam’s hands raising bruises and cuts on his skin. “I told you, Sammy. That’s never gonna happen.”

***

On the one hand, Dean feels relieved when Sam stops wallowing in regret and guilt after each time he hurts him because he hated seeing Sam in such misery over something that wasn’t even his fault to begin with.

On the other hand though, Dean truly misses those moments when he whispered “It’s alright, Sammy, everything’s alright,” because after all, those words always served to reassure them both.

***

“Here, let me,” Sam holds the door open for Dean as they leave the motel and head for the parking lot. Dean would normally snap that he’s not a girl and he doesn’t need to be treated like one, but the truth is he’s still pretty sore from last night and so he swallows his pride together with the retort.

“You don’t look so good,” Sam examines Dean critically as they approach the Impala and once again, Dean has to bite back a comment that he’d regret saying later, something along the lines of _well that’s what you get when you go all Hulk on me like that_. “Maybe I should drive,” Sam continues, “so you can get some more sleep.”

“Okay,” Dean hands over the keys and settles in the passenger seat, shuffling around as he searches for the least painful position before he finds it. It’s still pretty painful.

He feels better the next day, but when he asks for the Impala’s keys, he only gets an admonitory look instead.

Sam always does the driving from then on.

***

“This is rape,” Sam says one time when he reaches around Dean’s body under him and finds Dean’s cock limp as always.

Dean fights hard not to flinch. “It’s not.”

“You don’t really want this,” Sam tries stroking Dean’s cock to life, but to no effect. “This isn’t giving you any pleasure; I’m just doing it for my own.”

Dean doesn’t say anything to that, there’s no point in lying when the evidence of his disinterest is right there, in Sam’s large hand. He wishes he were a girl so he could fake it, but since he can’t, he decides he just has to learn to like it for real.

It’s a lot more difficult that he thought it would be, probably because despite the words Sam keeps hurling at him – _yeah, you were made for this_ and _so perfect for me_ and _my good little cockslut_ – he just simply _isn’t gay_ and he definitely _isn’t gay for his brother_. But then, Dean’s never been anything but stubbornly persistent and so he finally manages to pull it off.

The first time Dean manages to come with Sam’s cock in his ass and Sam’s fingers around his own erection, Sam just follows him right over the brink and then stares at him for hours afterwards, eyes so full of wonder and love that it’s almost easy to pretend this is just like the old times.

Almost.

***

The intervals between the beatings are getting shorter.

***

Sam is lying on the bed, head resting on his interlaced fingers, staring at the ceiling. He looks almost bored and Dean considers asking him for help with the research – there are mentions about someone called the Boy King in this old book he’s found and so far it seems to fit the picture – but in the end he doesn’t because he knows Sam would just say no anyway. He doesn’t seem so keen on finding a way to stop what is happening to him anymore.

The buzz of a vibrating phone interrupts Dean in his studies some time later. It’s Sam’s phone, still in Sam’s jacket that hangs on the hook by the door. It just keeps ringing and Sam doesn’t even move a finger.

“You gonna get that for me or what?” Sam asks finally, sounding annoyed and just a tiny bit angry.

Dean gets up and takes the phone, places it into Sam’s waiting palm.

***

The moment Sam walks through the door, aggression and bloodlust coming off him in waves, Dean quickly sheds his clothes and stands in the center of the room, feet slightly apart and hands behind his back, head bowed, and waits for the blows to fall.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“They just make me so _angry_ , you see,” Sam grits through teeth clenched in barely controlled rage, accentuating each word with a hard punch. “The people around me are so slow, so dumb, so ignorant.” He grabs hold of Dean’s hand, starts breaking the fingers one by one, just like he likes it, all systematic and methodical, precise. “Sometimes I want to snap their necks just so they'd stop wasting space.”

 _Better me than them_ , Dean thinks before he blacks out from the pain.

When he comes to, he’s all mended again, thanks to the healing power Sam’s picked up somewhere along the way, among others.

“You feel better?” He asks, carefully keeping his voice low so Sam doesn’t hear it tremble (with adrenaline, _not_ fear).

“Yeah, I feel like I got it out of my system for now,” Sam bends down to kiss Dean, one of those slow, gentle kisses that Dean would hate if he allowed himself to think about it – which he doesn’t, because Sam can also read his thoughts now.

***

Sam is in the shower when Dean’s phone rings. He answers it immediately, hoping that Sam didn’t hear the ringing. “Yeah?” He says it as quietly as he can.

“Dean?” It’s Bobby’s voice, sounding worried and relieved and pissed at the same time. “I haven’t heard from you and Sam in months! What the Hell’s wrong with you, you idjits?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean says, and almost believes it. “We’re still looking into this obsession the demons have with Sam.”

There’s a heavy sigh at the other end of the line. “Yeah, about that. Dean, I’ve heard hunters talking. They say Sam’s changed sides, he’s making friends among our black-eyed fellow citizens.”

“That’s not him.” It can’t be.

“Well, I ain’t saying it’s true, but…” another concerned sigh. “These are good hunters saying that stuff, Dean. Men I’ve known for decades, men that I trust.”

Dean wants to argue some more, but then he hears Sam turning off the shower. “Sorry, I gotta go.” He hangs up before Bobby can finish cursing his ass to Hell and back.

When Sam steps out of the bathroom, he doesn’t say anything, but he goes straight over to Dean’s duffel and digs out all of Dean’s phones and crushes them with his bare hands.

***

“I’m going out,” Sam throws over his shoulder, already at the door. “You stay here.”

“Maybe I could go with you this time?” Dean suggests, trying to sound casual. He’s been gathering up the courage to ask for over a week.

Sam doesn’t even turn to look at him. “Stay. Here.” The door slams shut.

Dean disobeys, but he only makes it about five steps outside before he’s slammed against the nearest wall, the back of his head thumping against it so hard he sees stars.

“I gave you an order,” Sam growls and watches Dean as if he expects an apology, which Dean can’t offer since Sam is currently crushing his windpipe. “What is wrong with you, Dean? Do you actually _want_ me to hurt you?”

Once Sam is done with him, Dean is in no condition to follow him even if he wanted to.

***

Sam brings a large leather bag one day, explaining that the punches and kicks and breaking bones isn’t doing it for him anymore, he needs something more satisfying.

Dean tries to hold still, tries to be good as he’s told, but when he sees Sam take out the instruments of torture from his bag, instincts just take over and he tries to get away.

Luckily Sam can hold him down with that telekinetic power he has now so it’s not a big deal.

***

Sam complains that it’s all too much for him, being around so many people, the temptation’s too big. “Maybe we should settle somewhere far from civilization and wait it out.”

“But what about looking for the cure for you?” Dean asks and accepts the slice of apple Sam offers to him, eating it off Sam’s palm and earning himself a praiseful pat on the head.

“Don’t worry about that,” Sam tells him, ruffling Dean’s slightly overgrown hair, long enough so that Sam can grab onto it and hold fast when he fucks Dean’s mouth. “Leave the complicated stuff to me.”

“Okay,” Dean says, opens his mouth so Sam can pop another piece of apple inside and chews dutifully.

***

One day, Sam doesn’t give Dean a reach-around when he fucks him, and when he’s finished with him, he just climbs off and disappears in the bathroom.

He doesn’t bother with Dean getting any pleasure out of sex after that, and Dean doesn’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed.

***

“This world is corrupt, rotten,” Sam’s face is tight with concentration as he carves elaborate symbols into Dean’s skin. They’re supposed to make sure Sam can always know Dean’s whereabouts and Dean feels proud that he doesn’t struggle today, he doesn’t as much as flinch, holding still just like he’s told. Sam doesn’t have to use that telekinetic power on him anymore. “I could fix it, you know. Make it better.”

“How?”

Sam sighs, looking slightly saddened. “It won’t be easy, and there’ll be some casualties, but this world needs to be cleansed. Purified. I’ll make it a better place.” He meets Dean’s eyes. “Will you help me?”

***

“Where did you get that?” Dean asks because he hasn’t seen the Colt since Dad made that deal almost a year ago. “I thought the Yellow-eyed demon had it.”

“He gave it to me,” Sam explains and crosses the old railroad tracks. “Come on, Dean!”

There’s an old cemetery a couple of miles down the road. Sam steps up to one of the tombs and takes out the Colt, inserts it into a hole in the iron door. The door flies open and pours out demons, legions of them, and they pool on the ground around Sam in a show of obedience. Dean joins them, kneeling amidst the black smoke with his head bowed.

“Dean, we made it,” Sam’s hand is on Dean’s chin, tipping it upwards so Dean can look up and meet Sam’s yellow eyes.


End file.
